she's the flame that fuels your fire
by maddieclaybourne
Summary: i don't hang out with him, he hangs out with me/ or how sam mccall went from small time con artist to master assassin known as hawkeye ii with the help of the original hawkeye aka clint barton.


_Author's Note: This takes place in an alternate universe where Sam McCall never made it to Port Charles, and it combines the backstory from the Hawkeye comics and the Marvel Cinematic Universe for the character of Clint 'Hawkeye' Barton._

**~*~she's the flame that fuels your fire~*~**

**~*~part one~*~**

**rating: t**

_June 2009_

"How do you plan on explaining the presence of..." Agent Phil Coulson trailed off, eying the petite and curvaceous brunette his charge Agent Clint Barton aka Hawkeye had brought back with him from his latest mission.

"Marilyn." She purred, plump lips curling into a salacious grin. "Marilyn Monroe."

"The same way I explained Nat to Fury." Clint returned easily, ignoring her sarcasm.

"I wasn't aware," Phil's normally dry tone, if it was possible, was even dryer. "Marilyn Monroe was an enemy asset **S.H.I.E.L.D. **wanted you to eliminate, Agent Barton."

"She's not and neither is Sam McCall, which is her real name, not that you didn't know that the moment we stepped through HQ fifteen minutes ago. You know we can use her, Phil..."

"_Use me?"_ Her beautiful face hardened instantly, shapely brows burrowing down and lips set in a frown. "I don't think so. I don't get used, I _do_ the using."

"Your long and illustrious record of aliases and crimes proves that, Miss McCall. Or should I say Mrs. Manning? Mrs. Stephens? Mrs. Andrews? Miss Williams? Miss Turner? Miss..."

"I've had a lot of names, so what?"

Clint sighed as he briefly pinched the bridge of his nose.

Stepping in front of Phil, he turned the metal chair backwards, straddling it and leaning forward so it was balanced on two legs instead of four. He stared into the depths of her dark mocha eyes, recognizing the pain she fought so hard to hide behind batting her criminally long lashes, flashing blinding pearly whites, sinfully plump lips and a body that just wouldn't quit.

She was trying hard not to turn away from his probing stare. He could see the tension coiling in her petite frame, so he just kept staring. He could do this all day, eventually she'd snap, like he had underneath Phil's withering stare once upon a time and just like Nat did with him back in Budapest.

"Take a picture," She snarked. "It'll last longer."

"You're _better_ than this. You're more than just," He reached out, running a calloused thumb along her plump bottom lip. "A pretty face. With the right training, you could prove to be a valuable asset. Or you could walk out of here, free as a bird, and keep running your little cons until you're bored of playing arm candy for a man twice your age with deep pockets. If you go six blocks that way," He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "You'll wind up on Tony Stark's doorstep, and you can be his kept woman for a few months, until he decides brunettes were three weeks ago and drops you for a blonde. Maybe Justin Hammer will let you keep his bed warm after."

Clint wasn't surprised when she lunged at him. She was fast, but he was faster. He ignored her scent of cinnamon and the feel of those luscious curves underneath his strong frame.

She wriggled against him, twisting and turning until she managed to hook her foot, encased in a knee high leather boot, around his calf and switched their positions. She blew her thick hair out of her eyes, which were sparkling with victory.

"Guess _I am_ more than just a pretty face."

"Prove it."

"What's in it for me?"

Phil watched the exchange with a grim expression on his face. He knew he was about to make the criminal Samantha Jane McCall disappear forever, and make the petite brunette, Samantha McCall, agent of **S.H.I.E.L.D.**

Just like he knew when he explained her presence to Director Fury, the older man would throw his recruitment of one Clinton Francis Barton right back in his face.

It was going to be a long day.

"What's _her_ sob story?" Natasha's cool tone is decidedly clipped as she emerges from the shadows.

"No different than mine. Her game was small cons and trophy wife scams, but she's got smarts, the kind of smarts **S.H.I.E.L.D. **can use. It's better that we grab her before she falls into the wrong hands. If she gets desperate enough..." Clint trails off.

"She'll what?"

"Do anything. Like I would. It's not like I joined the circus for shits and giggles."

"Maybe so, but if she's a con, who's to say she hasn't already met one of **S.H.I.E.L.D.'s** enemies?"

"She's not trained in espionage. Just small time stuff. Like what Tatum O'Neal pulled with her Dad in _'Paper Moon.'_ Stop fishing, Nat. It's not necessary. Coulson doesn't have the market cornered on **S.H.I.E.L.D.** recruitment, y'know. After all," Clint's steel green-grey eyes hold Natasha's sapphire. "He didn't get you to join up." His lips curl slightly. "I did."

"You're more trusting than you ever gave yourself credit for." Natasha shakes her head. "Hopefully trusting a Black Widow... and what?" Her lips quirk, but her beautiful face is blank. "A praying mantis?" She snorts. "Won't come back to bite you, Barton."

"I know what I'm doing." Clint calls after her.


End file.
